


Overmorrow

by reona32



Series: The Bowman and the Elvenking [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Death, Banishment, M/M, Movie 3: The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, Some Cursing, a little crudeness, one day after the battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28023444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reona32/pseuds/reona32
Summary: One day after the battle and Bard finds himself facing problems. It's the first test of his leadership, which he's not even sure he wants or that would be the best for Dale. They see what they have to work with and start rebuilding the city and Bard's affection for Thranduil grows as the Elvenking somehow ends up minding the children of Dale, who all the elves seem fond of, and they find a survivor in the ruins.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Series: The Bowman and the Elvenking [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738627
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

Fingers griped Bard's shoulder and shook him lightly. He opened his eyes, expecting one of his children, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw an unfamiliar elf leaning over him. A palm settled over his mouth before he could shout, a finger to the elf's own lips to signal the desire for silence. The elf slowly took his hand away from Bard's mouth and gestured to the side. Bard turned his head to see another elf standing at the back of the tent, looking down at where a dagger was slowly sawing at the canvas with an unimpressed expression. Bard rolled to his feet and pulled on trousers and his coat over his bare chest.

Bard and the two elves waited as the dagger finished parting the tent and a man stuck his head inside. The elven guard's sword flashed in the lamplight as the blade came to rest against the man's throat. The would-be intruder froze with a squeak. “Hello, Warwick,” growled Bard.

There was a lot of yelling after that. Percy showed up. Feren showed up. The children woke up and Bard sent them off with one of the elves while he dealt with Warwick. Bard was a very unhappy man that had to cobble together a jail. So he tossed Warwick into the side room of a half falling down building by the great hall and locked him in there. Then Bard grabbed the money and headed for the Elvenking's tent.

The two guards at the tent let Bard, Percy, and Feren pass uncontested. Inside the tent, Galion was lighting a lamp. Unerringly, Bard's eyes turned toward the alcove with the bed. He paused, a fond smile softening his features. His children were piled on the bed with Thranduil. Tilda was curled against the elf's chest while his two older children were tucked in besides them, covers pulled up to their chins. Thranduil was still asleep, eyes closed, but an arm was hooked around Tilda, holding her close. Sigrid was looking at him tiredly but Bain was asleep, mouth hanging open and snoring lightly.

“Is everything alright?” asked Galion softly.

Bard pulled his gaze away from the bed with a sigh. “Another thief.”

Galion frowned. “More food?”

“No. Warwick was probably after the money that was stored in my tent.”

Percy snorted. “The money may have been what he wanted but I'm sure he would have happily slit your throat given a chance.”

Galion turned wide eyes to Feren and the other elf nodded. “The man in question has been isolated, Ada,” the commander said.

Bard put the bag of coins on the table and sighed. “I have a favor to ask, Galion.”

“Of course,” replied Galion, understanding at once. He went over to a small trunk and knelt before it. A key was produced from inside his robe and the trunk unlocked. Galion waved to Bard. “Bring it here. We can store it safely.” Bard gave the bag over to him and Galion nestled the coins inside the trunk and shut it, locking it again. He stood and frowned at the two mortals. “Go back to bed, Lord Bard, Master Percy. It is still the middle of the night and you both need more rest.”

“We have things to discuss with you,” protested Bard.

Galion raised a hand and shook his head. “There will be time enough in the morning. For now, rest.” Percy suddenly yawned, giving Bard a sheepish look after.

Bard grumbled but nodded. “Let me get my children.”

“Let them sleep,” Galion said. “Waking them to move again will only leave them more cranky in the morning. They can sleep the rest of the night here.”

Feren went to the bed and leaned over its occupants. “Besides, I do not think the king will let the little one go. They look very comfortable,” he said with a soft chuckle. Indeed, Tilda now had a fistful of Thranduil's hair and the elf had curled around the child, his face tucked against the crown of her head.

Seeing the silver-blond hair mixed with the brown hair of his daughter sent a twinge through Bard's chest and he found himself smiling fondly again. Sigrid had fallen back asleep as well. The wide bed held all of them comfortably and Bard found himself agreeing with Galion. “Look after them for me?”

“Of course.”

“I'll be back in the morning then.”

Galion nodded. “Feren, ion, make sure Lord Bard and Master Percy get back to their beds safely, please.”

Feren saw Bard back to his tent, told him a guard would be nearby should anything else happen, and left to take Percy back to his bed in the great hall. No doubt Hilda was eager to hear what was going on. Bard pulled his coat off and kicked his unlaced boots off his feet. He collapsed onto his cot and, despite the late night excitement, fell back asleep. 

The next morning, one day after the battle, the clouds broke apart and it was sunny, if still cold. Bard washed himself with cool water in a bowl and a coarse cloth and dressed in clean, if worn, clothing. He pulled on his boots and coat and headed out. The elven guards at the tent were unfamiliar to Bard but he gave both a nod before slipping inside. 

Bard blinked in surprise. The inside of the tent was lit by many lamps and warmed by two pot bellied stoves. A round table and chairs had been moved into the tent and around it sat Sigrid, Feren, Galion, Tilda, and Thranduil. Out on the veranda behind the tent, Bard could see Auriel, dressed in simple green tunic and brown trousers, and Bain. The elf guard was instructing the boy in swordsmanship. Auriel slowly brought her sword up and lightly tapped it against the blade Bain held. There was a fierce concentration on the boy's face as he copied the movement.

At the table, Sigrid was slowly eating a thick porridge, her attention more on the book she was holding. Feren was next to her, his attention on several parchments he was looking over. Galion was facing Bard but the dark haired elf stared into space, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Sitting in the travel throne was Thranduil, dressed in a long silver and green robe. His hair was gleaming in the lamplight, his silver circlet atop his head. His bright blue eyes were also vacant and staring. Tilda sat sprawled in the Elvenking's lap and the little girl appeared to be dozing. Scattered on the table were half empty plates and mugs.

Sigrid caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up. “Good morning, Da,” she greeted with a smile.

“Good morning, darlin',” Bard replied, walking over to press a kiss to her head. Tilda stirred, yawning. “Good morning, Tilda.”

“Morning, Da,” muttered the little girl listlessly. Bard frowned.

“Tilda has a headache,” explained Sigrid.

“A headache?” Bard echoed, concern clouding his face.

“It's just a headache, Da.”

“Mallos has already examined her, Lord Bard,” Feren said. “He is unconcerned. Lady Tilda has been given some tea for the pain and is resting.” A smile flitted across Tilda's face at being called a 'lady'.

“That's good. Thank you, Feren.”

“You are most welcome. Please, sit and join us for breakfast.” Bard nodded in acceptance and sat in the closest free chair. Porridge and sliced fruit were passed over and Bard grinned sheepishly as his stomach growled loudly. Sigrid snickered. Feren poured a cup of tea from the pot, a beautiful white pot painted with delicate blue flowers that Bard had never seen the likes of before. Some pieces of apple sat on a plate in front of Tilda and she nibbled on the fruit.

Auriel and Bain came into the tent from the veranda. “I believe that is enough for this morning, Lord Bain,” the auburn haired elf said. She placed the sheathed swords in a chest. “If you wish for more instruction, I have the evening of tomorrow off or, if you wish, I can see if some of my colleagues could give you a lesson when they have time.”

“Really?” Bain asked excitedly. “Please, as soon as possible? I really want to learn.”

Auriel chuckled and nodded. “As you wish. I will ask around.”

“Thank you!”

The exuberant cry caused Galion and Thranduil to startle, both blinking. “What is going on?” Galion demanded, looking around owlishly. Thranduil yawned, one hand lifted to shield his mouth.

Auriel leaned over Galion and kissed his cheek. “I offered to find Lord Bain sword instructors and he is very excited about it, meleth nín.”

“Sorry for waking you, Master Galion,” said Bain sheepishly.

“Oh. Oh, yes. That is quite exciting,” Galion agreed, lifting the cup in front of him to his lips. Taking a sip, he then made a face and frowned down into the cup.

Feren reached for it. “Ada, here, let me get you fresh tea.”

Thranduil rested a hand on Tilda's forehead. “How are you feeling, tithen pen?”

“I'm ok. My head feels a bit better.”

“That is good. Did you drink your tea?” Tilda nodded and made a pleased humm as Thranduil stroked her hair. The Elvenking was pale as snow and had an air of fatigue around him. Faint dark smudges discolored the area under his eyes.

Bard swallowed his mouthful and left his chair. He knelt on one knee by Thranduil's side and bowed his head. “I want to thank you on behalf of the people of Dale, for your efforts healing everyone. I know it cost you a great deal to heal so many and that many would not have survived without your help. It was a miracle unlooked for and it brought many great joy to see their loved ones saved. I do not know how we can ever repay you.”

Sigrid stood and curtsied, followed quickly by Bain getting up and bowing. “We also want to thank you for healing so many. You saved so many from death and greatly helped the city of Dale,” said Sigrid.

“Should I get up too?” whispered Tilda from Thranduil's lap.

“No, tithen pen. You rest,” the Elvenking whispered back. He then smiled at Sigrid and Bain. “You are most welcome, hîn. Every effort must always be made to heal the sick and injured. Leaders must always look after those they are responsible for. Understand?”

“Yes, sire.”

Thranduil lightly touched Bard's shoulder and the bowman looked up. “Rise, Lord Bard. There is no need to kneel to me or to seek to repay me. Seeing to the welfare of one's people and allies is only right and true. I was happy to help.” Bard caught Thranduil's hand and bent over it, lips pressing a swift kiss to his fingers. Thranduil's eyes widened for a second. Across the table, Feren grinned. Galion hid a smile in his tea cup while Auriel's green eyes sparkled happily.

“You are a blessing from the Valar,” murmured Bard before releasing Thranduil's hand and standing. He sat back down in his chair and picked his spoon up, focusing fiercely on his food. Embarrassment had the bargeman turned reluctant lord cringing inside. Thranduil stared at Bard in bewilderment. Sigrid and Bain sat down too, eyes darting between their father and the Elvenking. Bain was noticeably confused but Sigrid had a thoughtful expression on her face. “As much as you have given us, I am afraid I must beg your help once more, King Thranduil,” Bard said, after several mouthfuls of the porridge and gathering his courage. 

Thranduil's lips twitched. “There is no need to beg, Lord Bard. What do you need?”

“Master Galion knows some of this but last night the patrols found money in the ruins. I wish to use that money to buy supplies from a town to the south.”

“A wise decision,” Thranduil said with a nod.

“Thank you. I was hoping you would lend us a wagon and a team of horses? I have men I trust to make such a trip but they would be able to buy more supplies if they did not have to carry everything back to Dale themselves. The whole trip should take a week if the weather holds. What say you?”

Thranduil sat back in his chair, his gaze going toward the veranda. The sun was bright but the air drifting into the tent was cold. He seemed to consider for a moment and then nodded slightly. “The weather should hold. You may barrow a wagon and team of horses, Lord Bard.”

Bard smiled. “Thank you.” His smile quirked ruefully. “I was also hoping you might spare an elf guard or two. I would be less worried if my men had the back up of some of your formidable warriors,” he wheedled.

“Oh, well done,” praised Thranduil in amusement. “How many men are you sending?”

“I was thinking three.”

Thranduil nodded and looked across the table. “Feren, find three suitable guardsmen for the journey.”

“Yes, aran nín. Now, there is only the matter of the thief.”

Bard groaned. 

“Thief?” asked Thranduil in confusion. “What thief?” 

Bard rubbed his forehead. “Well, it could possibly be two thieves but I don't think so.”

“Bard,” Thranduil said in a flat tone, “what thief?” When told of the stolen food and then of Warwick slicing open Bard's tent late in the night the Elvenking pursed his lips, anger radiating from his stormy eyes. “I assume you have this Warwick in custody?” Thranduil demanded. Bard nodded. “What do you propose to do with him?”

“I don't know,” Bard said, sounding conflicted. “I was hoping you might have some... thoughts on the matter.”

Feren snorted and then shrugged when Bard looked at him. “It would be a moot point for us. Any person found sneaking into my lord's chambers with a weapon would be executed on the spot.” Bard winced. “I take it since this Warwick person is still alive, that you are not going to do that?”

“I... I would like to not do that.” Bard very much did not want to be responsible for killing a person. Fighting a battle was one thing, execution was another.

“We don't really have the resources to support a prisoner,” muttered Sigrid.

“We can't just release him,” Bain argued.

Bard tapped a finger against his cup, chewing his lip. Thranduil picked up a piece of apple and slowly ate it, waiting. “We are sending people down to Alderglass already. What if we just … send Warwick along and leave him there?”

“Banishment?” Feren mused.

“Give him a couple coins and let him go on his way,” Bard said. “He'd be gone and we wouldn't have to worry about supporting a man that wasn't contributing.” He looked at the Elvenking. “What do you think?”

Thranduil looked impassive. “I think it is not my decision to make,” he said mildly. He lifted his cup and took a sip of tea.

Bard blew out a breath. “Right. I need to talk with Percy.” He looked at Feren. “When can your guards and the wagon be ready? I'd like them to leave as soon as possible.”

“Within the hour, if you wish.”

“Yeah, that would be good. Meet you in the courtyard in front of the great hall?”

“As you wish, Lord Bard.”

Bard made a face but downed the last of his tea and stood. “Alright, lake monsters, let's get out of the king's hair. We've got a busy day with a lot to be done and I'd like you all to do your best to help.” Both Sigrid and Bain stood to follow their father but the youngest stayed put.

“Can I stay with Thranduil, Da?” Tilda asked. “I don't really feel like sorting broken tiles.”

Bard hesitated but Thranduil smiled down at the little girl. “I do not mind if Lady Tilda wishes to spend the day with me, Lord Bard. It would be a pleasure.”

“Alright,” Bard said with a nod. He gave Tilda a stern look. “Best behavior, Tilda. Understood?”

“Yes, Da.” Bard and his two eldest children left.

“Auriel, please take your husband to your tent and see he gets some sleep. Galion has been awake for two days,” ordered Thranduil.

The auburn haired elf glanced down from where she was perched on the arm of her husband's chair and sighed. Galion's eyes were glassy with sleep. “Yes, aran nín.” She gently shook Galion's shoulder and he blinked. “Hervenn, come. You need rest.”

“Oh, pardon me,” Galion said, yawning. “With your leave, my lord.”

Thranduil bowed his head slightly. “Of course. Sleep well, mellon nín.”

Auriel stood and then leaned over to press a kiss to Feren's cheek. “See you later, ion.”

“Yes, Nana. Sleep well, Ada.” Galion squeezed Feren's shoulder and then linked his arm with his wife's and left.

Tilda shivered as a cold breeze swept through the tent as Galion and Auriel opened the flap. Thranduil frowned and stroked her cheek with a finger. “Feren, bring me the box carved with ivy from the top drawer of that chest there.” The dark haired commander did as ordered and set the small box in front of the Elvenking. Thranduil opened it to reveal a small bottle of silvery liquid and a set of tiny glasses etched with swirly star patterns. “Tilda, I want you to drink something for me, please.”

Tilda pouted. “Is it medicine?”

Thranduil smiled. “Yes, in a way. But you will like this. It is very sweet.” He poured a tiny bit of the liquid, barely a sip, into a glass and handed it to her.

Tilda sniffed it dubiously. “What is it?”

“Is is a drink we elves make called miruvor. It will make you feel better. Please?” 

Tilda gave a very put upon sigh but swallowed the liquid. She smiled. “That was good!” She licked her lips. “I think I feel better already.”

“I am glad.”

Feren took a second glass and poured out another small portion. “You too,” he said, handing it to Thranduil. “I know you are still tired from your efforts in the healing tents and it would not do to be weakened here and now.” Thranduil gave him a wry smile and drank the miruvor. Feren nodded in thanks and put the box away.


	2. Chapter 2

Bard exited the tent and caught sight of Filegor nearby. He waved to get the elf's attention. “Filegor, have you seen Percy or Hilda?”

The fair haired guard bowed her head in greeting. “I believe they are in the food hall, my lord.”

“Thanks.” Bard slung one arm around Sigrid's shoulders and set his free hand on Bain's shoulder, leading them toward the large tent. A few people called greetings as they entered and they found Percy and Hilda easily. They settled on a bench by the couple. “Good morning, Percy, Hilda,” said Bard, his children echoing him. “Hilda, would you and Sigrid go fetch Roland, Gregor, and Tobias for me? Lord Thranduil has given us the use of a wagon and horses to buy supplies and they will be ready shortly. I want them to leave as soon as possible.”

“That's fantastic news, Bard!” Hilda exclaimed. She stood and gestured to the young woman. “We'll do that.”

Bard caught sight of Edric nearby and called to him. The man settled on a chair next to Percy and Bard explained his plan, sure the rumor mill had already spread word of the money found in the ruins last night. “A wagon, horses, and an elven guard will be ready in about an hour for the trip down to Alderglass to buy supplies. Percy, did you think up a list of what we need?”

“Aye.” Percy pulled a scrap of paper from his coat and smoothed it out on the table. “Good, heavy wool would be useful but they should also buy as much dry goods and root vegetables as they can. Oats, beans, flour, and the like. Anything preserved would be good. We'll need building tools as well. Hammers and the like. We've some but the more hands that work, the quicker the work will go.”

Bain leaned over, reading the list sideways. “We'll need more nails,” he said. The adults looked at him and he shrugged. “We have some that were salvaged from the Lake-town forge but we'll need more. It makes more sense to buy the nails than try and buy the items needed to create our own, at least for now.”

“Good idea, Bain. Food is most important to take the strain off what the elves give us but we'll need to think about farming tools for the spring too.”

“Seeds,” Edric said. “We can cobble together tools from the orc armor but working the fields south of Dale will be useless without seed to actually plant.”

“Aye. Not wheat. We don't have the room to make it worth the effort,” Bard said, rubbing at his neck. “We need so much. The money won't go as far as I wished,” he muttered.

“We can at least get a start,” Percy said. “It's something.”

“More than we had a few days ago,” added Edric. Bard sighed.

“We need to focus on moving forward,” Percy said softly, leaning forward to keep his words just between them. “If we become paralyzed by the enormity of what we have to accomplish, then we're dead. We might not be able to do much right now but if we do nothing, then everyone will despair and I fear what will become of us if that happens.”

“Then we keep moving forward,” Bard said grimly. He set his hand on his son's shoulder and gave Bain a slight shake. “We can build a life for ourselves here. We may flounder for awhile but I know we can make it.” The boy grinned while the other two men nodded.

Hilda and Sigrid came back with the men and everyone settled around the table. Bard explained what he wanted and the three were agreeable and excited to be sent on the errand. They spoke about what was to be purchased and how much. Roland's family used to manage the general store on Lake-town. His elder brother and father had more experience with negotiating and buying but both men had died in the dragon's fire. 

“Go get your things together and let your families know you are leaving and will be gone about a week,” ordered Bard.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Ahh, don't hand me that. Off with you. Tobias, can you wait a minute?” Tobias sat heavily back in his chair, green eyes narrowing at Bard's serious face. “I don't know how far this has gotten but late last night Warwick sliced open the back of my tent with a knife and tried to sneak in.”

“Aye, some of the boys that were on patrol were talking about it,” Tobias said guardedly. 

“Of course they were,” grumbled Bard, pausing to rub between his eyes. Even now those that loitered over their breakfast in the food tent were doing a bad job of hiding that they were eavesdropping on the conversation but Bard would be damned if he kept secrets or led with a harsh hand. He would not follow in the footsteps of Lake-town's old Master.

“What are you going to do with him?” asked Hilda.

“He's going with Tobias and the others to Alderglass and will stay there when they leave.”

“Banishment?” Tobias asked in surprise.

“I don't trust him, I don't want him here, entering my tent with a weapon, where my children were sleeping, for Ulmo's sake, was the one thing I'm not going to put up with.” Bard paused to clear his throat, face tightening into a scowl. “I'll do my best, if you all are set on having me lead you, although piss if I know what made you think that was a good idea, but I won't do it with men I know are wanting to stab me in the back just waiting for their chance. So, yes, banishment. Warwick will be given some coin and supplies and left at Alderglass to make his own way.”

Tobias hummed. The fisherman was slightly younger than Percy and had a steady and deliberate manner to him. “Alright,” Tobias said blandly. “We'll take the little snot with us and leave him in Alderglass.”

“Thank you. Now, go talk to your wife, Tobias, and get ready to leave. Hilda, Sigrid, let's get together enough food to last them until they get to Alderglass and see they have warm coats and blankets. The wagon will be ready soon and I'm eager to get everyone on the road. And we need to gather Warwick's things to send with him.”

The wagon and team of horses was ready by the time Bard, Hilda, and Sigrid arrived with several packs. Tobias, Roland and Gregor were already there, clad in the best coats they had. Roland's wife, Pia, was standing in front of her husband and muttering to him, their faces close enough to kiss. Five saddled horses stood ready in the courtyard. Feren looked up from where he was talking with three elves clad in light armor and dark green cloaks. The elven commander hailed Bard and joined him. “Master Percy has gone to retrieve your prisoner,” Feren reported. “Lord Bain and Filegor has gone to the Elvenking's tent to retrieve your coin. They should be...” He was cut off by yelling.

“Great,” sighed Bard as a loudly complaining Warwick was brought down the road and into the courtyard. Those not already watching, came out of the great hall in curiosity. 

“I demand to be released!” shrieked Warwick. The man's hands were tied behind his back and he was being frog marched by a light haired elf toward the wagon. Percy was stalking behind them with a thunderous scowl on his face. “You have no right to hold me! You have no authority to sentence me!” He caught sight of Bard standing on the steps in front of the great hall. “Bard, you swine! What is the meaning of this?”

“The meaning of this,” replied Bard, raising his voice to carry, “is that I'm banishing you from Dale. You were caught last night breaking into my tent, where I and my children slept, with a weapon. I can think of no reason for your actions that are not terrible.”

“I meant only to take back that which you have stolen from us!” screamed Warwick. “You have taken money that belongs to the people of Dale! Money that should be given to us!”

“You mean this money?” called Tobias. Bain left him and went to his father. Tobias reached into the bag he held and pulled out a gold coin, flicking it into the air for all to see and then returning it to the bag. Gregor was holding an open strong box and Tobias put the bag into it and locked it, draping the key on its cord around his neck.

“That money will be used to buy needed goods and supplies for the people of Dale. So, it is money that will be given to them indeed. But I will not let anyone say I lead unfairly. Does anyone have any objections to sending these men to Alderglass to buy goods and supplies using this money?” Bard asked the crowd. The refugees of Lake-town watched the bowman, the slayer of the dragon, with dark and solemn eyes and no one raised their voice in disagreement. “Does anyone wish to speak in support of Warwick and against his sentence of banishment?” Again, the people in the courtyard remained quiet. Their memories of how the ruling class and the Master's circle had treated them were not short.

Warwick gaped. Panicked, he looked for support among the crowd. “Lukas!” he cried. “Cousin, surely you will not let this upstart send me away. Bard is not fit to lead us.”

“Don't drag me into your shit, Warwick,” snorted Lukas, folding his arms over his chest. His family had not been as highly placed as Warwick's had been in the Master's esteem and the schism was plain to see. “I warned you not to plot, that you wouldn't find any support for your maneuvering in Dale. Your mother is not here to suck the Master's cock anymore and the disgusting rat is dead anyway. Bard is Girion's heir and, from what I can see, he's doing a fine job of leading us. You brought this on yourself.”

Warwick howled in rage, spitting vitriol at everyone around him. “Gag him,” ordered Tobias. “I'm not listening to that all the way to Alderglass.” Roland shoved a rag in Warwick's flapping mouth and grinned as the elf holding him tossed him into the wagon like a bag of fluff.

Bard kept his face blank as he walked down the steps to join the cluster around the wagon. “When you reach Alderglass, give him five coins, his things, and send him on his way. Make sure he is not following when you return home,” he instructed.

“Yes, my lord,” Tobias replied with a grin.

“Oh, shove it. Do your best and be careful. We await your return.” Bard shook Tobias' hand and turned toward Feren. “I want to thank you again for lending us a few of your warriors. It's a load off my mind.”

Feren bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Oreldir, Ardis, and Thúl will see your men safely on their journey. You needn't worry. My lord Thranduil has ordered extra horses be sent, to ease the weight the draft horses must pull when the wagon is loaded.”

“I've never ridden a horse before,” Gregor said nervously, eyeing the animals.

One of the guards, a she-elf with light brown hair, stroked the nose of a horse. “There would be no easier horse to learn on than these. They will look after you, edain.” She grabbed Gregor's hand and pulled it up to the horse's nose. “Here. Let him scent you.” Gregor grinned as the horse snuffled his palm with his soft whiskers.

“Mount up. You'll have to learn on the road,” Tobias instructed. “Roland, you drive the wagon first.”

Bard stepped back as Gregor fumbled his way up onto the patient horse. Roland jumped into the wagon seat and took up the reigns. Tobias mounted his own borrowed horse while the elves swung up into their saddles gracefully. “Be safe, be quick, and may Ulmo bless you,” Bard announced. This appeared to be a signal for everyone in the courtyard to start shouting goodbyes and well wishes. The group paraded out of Dale with much fanfare. “This turned into a bigger hullabaloo than I anticipated,” Bard muttered.

Hilda shrugged. “Everyone is looking for a reason to hope. The promise of these supplies gives them hope.”

“Edric and his men are waiting to talk to you about starting the repairs,” Percy said, nudging the bowman's arm for his attention.

Bard groaned, rubbing his palms roughly over his face. “Is it too early to drink?” It was only the middle morning and already he was tired.

“Good luck finding something worth getting drunk on. Although,” mused Percy, “there is always wine in the Elvenking's tent.”

“Don't tempt me,” Bard sighed, waving Edric over.

Edric had identified several houses on the street next to the great hall as being in good enough shape that repairing them was possible. Weak points around windows may have been busted and time had collapsed portions of roofs but by cannibalizing materials from buildings in even worse condition, they could repair the chosen dwellings. They needed to sort the stone and tile they could use from the rubble in the city. Wood salvaged from Lake-town would replace rotted pieces. Edric and a fellow builder named Osmond gave pleased mutters as they inspected the large wood beams holding floors and roofs up. “The wood was hardened before being used in building,” Osmond said while jabbing a beam with a knife. “There is very little rot or termites.”

“Shore up the standing walls, make repairs, and then take the scaffolding down. Move on to the next building,” Edric observed. “Depending on how harsh the winter is, we could be housing half our population in actual houses come spring.”

“Yes, but will it be too cold for the mortar to set?” asked Osmond.

“If we use clay and mud, we should be alright.”

“Nothing for it. Too cold for lime mortar.”

“Not unless we want to wait for spring.” Both men turned questioning eyes toward Bard.

Bard gave them a blank stare. “I recognize words were said just now but hell if I know what they mean.” Percy was looking equally confused.

“We can use clay and mud as mortar between the stone and, as long as it's not too cold, it will work just fine. But it's not the best material and we'll need to make repairs in a couple of years,” explained Edric.

“And what's the best material?” Bard asked.

“Lime mortar,” Osmond replied. “But it doesn't set well in the cold. I guess we could try and warm the work area with fires and tarps...”

“Do we want to use wood to heat the work area when we have so little to warm ourselves?” Percy asked.

“Oh boy,” huffed Bard, cringing.

“It's a moot point anyway,” said Edric, “as we have neither lime or a kiln.”

“I bet the dwarves have quicklime we could use.” Again, both men looked expectantly at Bard.

Bard held up a hand, as if to slow a moving object. Indeed he felt as if everything was once again moving too fast for him to handle. “Even if the dwarves have quicklime, whatever that this, and provided I could even negotiate its use, Percy is right. We don't have the wood to warm a work site. Think of the amount of wood we'd have to cut. We'd be doing nothing but cutting wood and getting no building done. I'd rather have housing sooner rather than later, at this point. Use the clay and mud.”

They began to gather what salvageable materials they could use from the houses they were not going to repair. Edric and Osmond led two teams of men that had at least some experience in construction in carefully dismantling stone walls and tile roofs. Bard and Percy led the effort in moving the usable material into a staging area. One building yielded enough material to repair two or three other buildings. Groups muscled larger stones onto logs and rolled the blocks out of the street. Unusable broken stone or tile was tossed in a pile. That pile was growing to a depressing height to Bard's eyes.

Percy sidled up to Bard and muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Have we tried asking the dwarves for help? I mean, they are known for working with stone.”

“Messages between us and Erebor have been short and terse. I get the feeling they don't want to be bothered,” Bard quietly replied. “We negotiate in a month, all three of us, and I mean to have them helping with the towers and walls but I don't think we'll get a favorable response now.” Percy sighed but nodded.

Elves soon joined them. Dressed in tunics and leggings, they'd taken off their armor to help haul stone from one place to another. Feren and Celeron appeared, talking with Edric and Osmond and directing their elves to the places needed most. Bard watched as elves easily climbed up to rooftops with beams and ropes and quickly there was a pulley system ferreting tile down to the ground on small platforms. The elves leapt and danced across the heights with ease and grace. Percy set a group of teenagers to cleaning, collecting bits of broken debris from the streets and doing their best to sweep away the dirt and scrubbing the dried blood.

A sparkle on the ground drew Bard's attention as he pulled stone from a collapsed wall. He unearthed the object from the mud. Licking his thumb, he wiped at it until a spot of bright blue was revealed. He rubbed at it some more and made a surprised sound. It was a sapphire, about two inches wide and broken off along one side. Another piece of wealth that had escaped Smaug's notice. The bowman turned as the sound of a flute and laughter reached him. He pocketed the jewel and walked back up the road to the courtyard in front of the great hall.

Some children were gathered in the courtyard while a brown haired elf played a lively tune on his flute. They were dancing in a circle, singing an old song involving a clever otter outwitting a mean and selfish heron that was stealing the otter's fish. The otter and the heron, both represented by children, hopped in and out of the circle while the others called questions to the otter and hollered insults at the heron. They had attracted a number of smiling spectators.

Tilda was part of the circle and, somehow, she had gotten the Elvenking to join her. Bard grinned as he saw the tall elf turning in a circle with the other children, copying their taunts at the heron. Thranduil had traded his long outer robe for a more simple cloak, pinned at his throat with a clasp of silver leaves. He must have felt Bard's eyes because he looked up and found the bowman watching them. Thranduil's lips quirked in amusement and then he followed the group in jumping in and then out before reversing the direction of the spinning circle. Bard laughed as Tilda hauled the Elvenking about, his younger daughter grinning widely, and leaned against a wall to watch the whole performance.

The end of the dance included a drop to the ground and when the children landed on their butts with giggles, a surprised Elvenking was forced to his knees by Tilda and another child holding his hands. “See?” squealed Tilda as Thranduil hid a wince. “I told you it was fun!”

“It was,” agreed Thranduil. The play must have made the children bold because they then crowded around the elf. The little girls all wanted to touch his hair and Thranduil bent his head so they could. His eyes closed and a smile played along his lips as the girls cooed over the color and how soft his hair was. One of the girls, acting with the imperiousness and audacity of the young, pulled Thranduil's hair back and began to braid it, smugly instructing the others on what to do. The Elvenking settled on his heels and remained still, answering a few curious questions. Tilda boasted about her own braids that Thranduil had done that morning, to the jealousy of her peers.

The boys wanted to see the long knife belted at his waist. Thranduil showed them the finely tooled sheath and the silver blade, careful to keep them from touching the sharp weapon. They asked about the battles the Elvenking had been in and Thranduil softened his answers for his young audience, mouth slightly pinched. Questions about the Woodland Realm eased his expression and he described the deep caverns and graceful lines of his palace home.

Bard yelped in surprise when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Percy grinned at him. “You done staring yet?”

Bard shrugged him off. “Bah! Enough of that. What is it?”

“We're ready to move that big stone that fell from the bell tower out of the street. You want to come help anytime soon, my lord?”

“Oh stop!” growled Bard, shoving him away. “Get on! We've got enough work to do without you messing around.” Percy laughed as they walked back up the street. Neither man noticed Thranduil watch them go, icy blue eyes fixed on the bowman.

The morning was spent at work but Bard ordered a stop for lunch. He wasn't going to run anyone into the ground in these early days. They all headed for the food hall and Bard caught sight of Bain, muddied up to his knees. “What happened to you?” he asked.

Bain gave his father a big grin, cheeks pink from cold and exertion. “Gathering clay to the north of the city. I'm not even the dirtiest. Harlow fell down the slope and had to be retrieved by the elves.” He gestured to a surly faced teenager covered in mud from shoulders down who was limping toward the great hall. Bard asked if Harlow was ok and Bain shrugged. “He says he is. More embarrassed than anything, I think. Can we eat? I'm starved.”

“You're a bottomless pit, is what you are,” Bard replied. “Go on. I'll fetch your sisters.” Bain darted off and Bard headed to the medical tent, where he was sure his eldest was lingering. He found Sigrid at a small table in the medical tent with the elven healer Alimalé, the pair leaning over a book and spare paper. Alimalé was slowly sketching the bones of the leg while naming them. Bard smiled as his daughter looked up. “Got time enough to eat some lunch with your old man?” he asked.

“Hi, Da,” greeted Sigrid, getting up to hug him. 

“A break for a meal is a fine idea, Lord Bard,” Alimalé said, rising from the table in a pale green dress. “We may continue your lesson after you eat, Lady Sigrid.”

“Thank you so much, Mistress Alimalé,” Sigrid replied.

Bard looked around the medical tent. The other elven healer, Mallos, was seeing to a man that had cut his hand while moving tile, a sharp edge slicing open his palm. Otto, who had broken his leg when drunk on patrol and been doomed to heal the slow mortal way as punishment, was glowering from a cot. There were still those recovering from wounds gotten during the battle, saved from death by the Elvenking but still healing. A couple people were laying in a darkened corner of the tent with cloths across their eyes. A thin trail of smoke drifted from a small pot nearby. Bard jerked his chin at them. “What is their aliment?” he asked.

“Headaches and sour stomachs. Tea and rest should see them well,” Alimalé replied.

“Thank you so much for looking after them.” The healer acknowledged Bard's thanks with a delicate nod. Bard guided Sigrid out of the tent. “Have you seen your sister?” he asked.

Sigrid chuckled. “She's wherever King Thranduil is.”

“Oh boy. That bad, huh?”

“I don't know who is more smitten, Til or the king.” They both paused as they turned into the courtyard, surprise spreading over their faces.

Bard barked out a laugh. “Well, I'll be!” Like a clutch of little ducklings after their mother, Thranduil was leading the children across the courtyard to the food hall. Each girl had her hair braided neatly and each boy had a short stick thrust through their belts, no doubt representing future swords. Thranduil's own pale hair was still in a haphazard braid, tossed over one shoulder. There was a haughty tilt to the Elvenking's chin and each child that followed behind him had their nose stuck up in the air in imitation. Behind the troupe, a couple of elf guards came as the rearguard, amusement plain on their fair faces. Bard and Sigrid entered the food hall to find the elf settling the children at a long table.

“Now, remember,” Thranduil was saying, “lords and ladies of my court always eat all their food, especially their vegetables.” A couple of the children complained and Thranduil frowned at them. “And they certainly do not whine. Sit down so you may be served. Sit on the bench Edda, not the table, please.” A couple of elves appeared with plates of roasted vegetables and loafs of bread to set in front of the children. “Now, because we are in Dale, Lord Bard sits at the head of the table,” Thranduil looked at him expectantly and Bard jumped at being addressed. He gestured him to the stool placed at the end of the table and Bard obediently sat, a grin on his face. “And because I am the visiting king and next in rank, I sit to his right.” Thranduil placed himself so, twisting his cloak to drape across his lap and out of the way. “Sigrid, being the eldest daughter, sits to Bard's left. Tilda, you are next to her.” Sigrid and her sister sat themselves as such, sharing an amused grin with their father. “Bain, being the male heir but not yet at his crowning, would sit next to me but since he's busy trying to wheedle a second helping of beef from Mistress Imogene, we'll leave him to it.” There was a smattering of laughter around them and Bard rolled his eyes. A woman came by and served each a slab of beef with a heavy gravy, although Bard noticed the Elvenking abstained from the meat. The children tucked in, even eating the vegetables. “Jonas,” Thranduil said sternly, “one does not inhale their food whole. Chew and then swallow.” The young boy dutifully slowed down.

“Every mother in here is wondering how you mange to control them all so easily,” Bard muttered out of the side of his mouth.

“I assure you it will only last until the novelty wears off,” Thranduil replied softly. “Then not even the threat of an elf king will get them to behave.” Bard snorted, hungry enough from his morning work to not delay his own meal any longer and began to eat ravenously.

The food hall was filled with Men and elves mixing together. Each elf that passed by gave their king a deep nod before continuing on. Someone shouted across the tent and everyone near there broke out into loud laughter. Bard glanced at the Elvenking but it seemed Thranduil was unbothered by the noise. The elf was helping the little girl next to him cut her meat into bite sized pieces. Bard was struck by the oddity of the sight and felt his chest tighten. He looked around the crowded tent and had to fight back tears. A few scant days ago, these people had been beaten down and grim. Their future had looked bleak. And now to even have a future where they might survive long term, even thrive, was almost unreal.

A light touch to his arm had Bard turning toward Thranduil. The Elvenking looked at him questioningly, frowning slightly. “Are you alright?” he asked softly. “Do you feel well?”

“Aye, I'm fine. Merely thinking,” Bard said, a bit sheepishly. Thranduil's expression eased and he gave the man a little nod before turning his attention to a boy trying to cram a huge piece of bread into his mouth all at once. Bard grinned uncontrollably as the elf stopped him from choking himself.

After all the children had eaten, Thranduil stood and looked down his nose at them. “Now, lords and ladies of my court, do you know what we do after the midday meal?” The children hung on his every word, waiting for his pronouncement of what they would do now. “We nap.” There were loud protests from the children. Thranduil looked shocked. “You do not nap? Then how will you be able to stay awake during the nighttime revelry?” That got the children agreeing to take a nap.

Bard followed behind the duckling procession as Thranduil led the children to the great hall and their cots. Some elves helped their parents settle them into bed. “But I'm not sleepy,” said one boy.

“Then close your eyes and pretend,” ordered Thranduil and began to hum. The other elves joined and then a soft melody drifted across the children, dragging eyelids down. Even Bard felt sleepiness tug at his limbs but he shook it off. The song drifted into quiet. The woman and old men that were in the great hall tiptoed around, careful not to wake the sleeping children. Someone offered a chair to Thranduil, a grand thing with a pillow on the seat that must have come from the Master's house, and the elf sank onto the seat with a gracious nod. Somehow, Tilda had ended up in his arms.

“Here, I'll take her,” Bard said, reaching for his daughter.

Thranduil pulled away. “No need, Lord Bard. She sleeps and it is no trouble.”

Bard grinned, looking around at the other elves that were gazing raptly at the sleeping children. “I feel the need to remind you that you have to return the kids to their parents. You can't keep them.”

Thranduil tilted his chin up disdainfully. “Do not be ridiculous, my lord.” There was a smattering of laughter from the parents and Bard grinned.

“Alright, I'll leave you to it then,” he said. The bowman stroked his hand over his daughter's hair and if his forefinger brushed the elf's soft cheek, well, who was to say for sure.

Bard passed by some women sorting items rescued from Lake-town and could not help but overhear them. “My grandson has never gone down for a nap without a fight in his life,” a grey haired lady said. “If that is elf magic, then I hope they never leave.” The group chuckled to themselves.

Bard's lips quirked in a sad smile as he headed out of the doors. “Me too,” he muttered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edain – Elvish word for Man
> 
> Ulmo is the Vala (god) of the seas and waters. I thought it appropriate for a people who lived on the water to use him as sort of a patron god.


	3. Chapter 3

The people of Lake-town were used to hard work but they set themselves to the task of rebuilding Dale with an enthusiasm unseen in their old home. Bard supposed he should get used to thinking of everyone as the citizens of Dale, rather than a home half fallen into the water. He grunted in frustration as the stone he was pulling on suddenly cracked in half. Edric, Osmond, and the others with building experience had built a scaffolding around the house they were working on. Already one wall looked to be nearly finished. It was good to see even that little bit of progress. The sun was inching closer to the horizon, telling the bowman they only had a couple hours more of sunlight. Winter was quickly overtaking them.

Bard stood up, cracking his back with a grunt. Laughter pulled his attention up the street and he saw a gaggle of children race across, a group of elves giving slow, exaggerated chase. Bard decided it was time for a break. He wandered back into the courtyard in front of the great hall. Some elves were giving a group of children with sticks sword lessons, such as they could. He own younger daughter was following along with the instruction. But Bard's eyes were drawn to the Elvenking, as ever.

Thranduil was standing in the middle of a ring of children. As Bard watched, the elf took the hands of one child and swung them up into the air in a circle and then set them neatly back onto their feet. He did this a couple of times for each before switching to a new child. The children being swung shrieked with happy noise. Thranduil's pale hair flew as he twirled gracefully, cape an artful swish. Fondness ached in Bard's heart. 

An older child, still young but with the gangling limbs of early teenage-hood, was hovering at the edge of the ring. Thranduil beckoned to him but the teen shook his head. He probably thought he was too big to be swung around and too old to want it but Thranduil was gently insistent and soon the teen was clasping the elf's hands. Thranduil braced himself differently than he did with the smaller children, perking Bard's attention, and then he was swinging the teen in the air. He turned several times, instead of just once, and the teen howled with laughter. Everyone wanted a turn after that, even the ones Bard would consider too big. But Thranduil whirled them in the air all the same, making Bard wonder how strong elves really were. Well, they had been hauling stone around all day with the mortals without breaking a sweat, so probably stronger than Bard realized.

Filegor came trotting into the courtyard, the group of children chasing after her. A couple more elves came jogging up behind. One auburn haired elf had a young girl on her shoulders. “At least they'll all be tired enough to sleep well tonight.” Bard glanced over at Una, the old woman tugging a heavy shawl over her shoulders. “Most wake with nightmares late at night,” Una muttered, coming close. “Maybe spending the day with the elves will ease them into a more peaceful sleep.” 

“Hopefully,” agreed Bard, saddened for those still haunted by the fighting and death even in sleep. He knew his own nightmares lurked beyond exhaustion. They looked up in time to see an elf lunge forward and snatch a little boy out of the air as they fell from a rubble pile some were playing on. The elf shooed them off it sternly. A woman came out of the great hall and shouted. A girl and boy broke from the circle around the Elvenking and came running up. They sat on the steps and the two children took off their threadbare, old coats and their mother helped them into thicker coats, cobbled together from many different colored fabrics. The children were all grins at their new clothing. There were many such coats and pieces of clothing among the people of Dale, warm but makeshift. Still, it was a great measure better than what many of them had been wearing when they fled from Lake-town.

Some noise or movement caught Bard's attention and he turned from the courtyard to head toward the disturbance, Una following him in curiosity. They heard the barking first. Then they heard the arguing. “What in Ulmo's name?” muttered Una as they came upon the scene.

Men and elves stood opposite each other. A large dog, half covered in mud and half covered in grey dust, barked and growled from the corner of a fallen building. A couple elves were attempting to soothe it but the dog appeared too far gone to calm down. “We should do away with it before it hurts someone. It's obviously mad!” said a man with a short, grizzled bread.

“It's not mad but terrified,” an elf argued, bright auburn hair half up in braids looped around her head like a crown and wearing dark green leggings covered in dust, showing she had been one of the elves helping with the clean up. “If you would just give us a chance to...”

“A chance?! It already bit Leon!”

“It did not,” said Leon, reaching down to shake his undamaged trouser leg. “It snapped at me, is all.”

“Please, let us move back and give the dog some room,” pleaded the elf.

“Should we just let it roam free until it attacks one of the children?” yelled a woman, fear twisting her face. “We're in danger from enough beasts!”

“Bard!” barked the man, having spotted the bowman. “Bard, what say you? Should we allow a rabid dog to live just because the elves hearts are so soft?”

“Are mans hearts so hard to kill a terrified animal rather than help it?” retorted the elf.

“Issac, haven't we had enough death?” Una asked. “Must we add a poor dog to the numbers?”

“Poor dog?” laughed Issac. The dog was still growling at everyone, man or elf. “The beast is obviously rabid. Bard, come on. See reason!”

Bard hesitated. He was inclined to agree. He knew how dangerous starved, desperate animals were and the dog seemed too far gone, ribs showing and fur ragged. It might be a kindness to end it now and a relief not to have to worry about it lurking around. But he also knew the elves would not see it that way and he did not want to alienate his new allies, upon which all their survival hinged. Pale silver-blond hair caught his eye and Bard looked over to find the Elvenking joining the crowd, Tilda attached to his hand. The little girl was wide eyed as she caught sight of the growling dog. Thranduil turned his head and their eyes caught, bright blue to soft brown.

Bard dipped his head toward the snarling dog. “Is there...?” he trailed off, unsure of what he was asking exactly. If the elf wanted to try and help the dog, he wasn't going to stop him. He owed too much to the Elvenking to gainsay him.

Thranduil guided Tilda over to her father. “Stay here,” he ordered her. He unclasped his cloak and pulled it off. An elf took it. “Can you get your people to back up?” Thranduil asked. He waved a hand and his elves left the ruined building silently.

Bard nodded. “Back up!” he shouted. “Come on. Back into the street. Back!” Grumbling, they did as bid.

Thranduil was left alone and the dog fixed him with its fever bright eyes. Bard held his breath as the Elvenking slowly approached the dog and knelt. The dog growled and snarled, hackles bristling. “That dog is going to tear his throat out,” Issac said lowly, sounding not opposed to the idea. Bard tensed at the words. Thranduil's lips moved, although Bard was too far away to hear what the elf was saying. Everyone gasped as the dog suddenly lunged. Thranduil remained still as the dog snapped the air in front of his face and then retreated to bark and bay. The elf bowed his head, pale hair sweeping over his shoulders. The dog lunged again but retreated without biting once more.

“Da,” whined Tilda worriedly, tugging at her father's sleeve.

“King Thranduil knows what he is doing, darlin',” Bard muttered. Feren came jogging up and hissed something in elvish that to Bard's ears could only be a curse. Bard expected the commander to rush in and pull his king away but Feren remained on the street, as tense as a bowstring.

Bard was unsure how long the tableau lasted. Long enough for some of the mortal audience to grow bored and wander off, he noticed. Thranduil was still kneeling before the dog, softly speaking. The dog was reluctantly winding down, exhaustion noticeable. Its growling and barking quieted. It subsided into panting and collapsed, its legs folding. Slowly, Thranduil lifted a hand, fingers limp and palm down. A low growl rumbled from the dog but the elf's hand hung in the air without touching. The dog quieted again. 

Bard nervously watched as Thranduil gently settled his hand on the dog's head and began to pet it. He squinted. “He's glowing again,” whispered Tilda, awed. “Not as bright as before but still...” Then it wasn't just Bard's eyes playing tricks on him. Thranduil was slightly glowing. They wouldn't have been able to tell if it wasn't edging toward twilight.

The dog whined and let out a big sigh, thin chest quaking. Thranduil gathered the dog into his lap and stroked along the animal's side. The ratty tail wagged. “Is that it?” asked Bard softly.

“Yes, that's it,” replied Feren, sounding fairly put out.

“I don't believe it,” said Edric, from beside Bard. “I thought for sure he was gonna get bit.”

The dog began to whine and cry loudly, wiggling in Thranduil's hold. Bard tensed but the elf merely helped the dog back onto its feet. The dog began to limp toward a pile of rubble, holding its back left leg up off the ground. Thranduil stood and followed. The dog led him around the rubble and looked up at him imploringly. Thranduil face grew sad and he shook his head. “Im úpol cýra gorthrim,” he said quietly. The elves all bowed their heads solemnly. The dog let out such a long mournful cry that even the mortals felt a shudder of grief.

Confused and drawn, Bard came around the Elvenking's other side. “Oh,” he breathed morosely. Another dog, just as dirty and skinny as the first, lay behind the rubble. Obviously dead, her side was torn open. At her belly, lay five little brown shapes, all still and silent. “No wonder he was protecting this corner. He has a mate and pups.”

“Had,” muttered Una softly. The dog was whining softly now, his head laying beside his dead mate.

Thranduil knelt and ran a hand over the female dog's side. “Orc claws,” he observed. He ran a finger over the still puppies one by one, as if blessing them. They all started as the last little pup let out a soft snuffle at being touching. Thranduil quickly picked it up and brought it close for warmth. The puppy squeaked quietly. “Feren,” said the Elvenking, standing. The dark haired elf said something to the dog and then hoisted it up into his arms.

“It's alive?” asked Tilda, a smile blooming.

“Yes, tithen pen, it is alive,” replied Thranduil. “Let us make sure it stays that way.” Agile as a deer, Thranduil was away, heading back into the city. Feren followed swiftly after him.

The auburn haired elf shoved Thranduil's cloak into Bard's arms. “Follow them to the king's tent,” she ordered. She looked down at the female dog and puppies with sadness. “We will take care of these poor little ones.” Fumbling but glad for direction, Bard did as ordered and headed after Thranduil, Tilda running with him.

The flaps on the tent were closed but the dark haired elf guards lifted them for Bard and Tilda. The inside of the tent was warm, both stoves holding merry fires. The injured dog was lying before one stove on a makeshift blanket bed, lapping fresh water from a bowl like it hadn't drunk in days. Which, Bard realized, it probably hadn't. Thranduil was knelt before the other stove, rubbing the little puppy with a damp cloth. It softly squealed at the treatment. Tilda came close, worried eyes fixed on the puppy.

Bard started as Feren came inside, Alimalé and Sigrid following quickly behind. The elf healer said something in an astonished tone, elvish unknown, and came to kneel by the king. “Sigrid,” she said briskly, “return to the healing tents and ask Mallos for a hollow reed, supports for broken bones, and bandages. Tell him to find Therion and send him to King Thranduil's tent and then bring the items to us. Understood?”

Sigrid, blessedly always Bard's level headed child, nodded. “Yes, miss,” she said, darting back out of the tent.

Alimalé frowned and looked bleakly at the king. “Baurm ilin,” she muttered.

Thranduil looked up at Bard gravely. “I know it is much to ask when you have so little, Lord Bard, but I know you have a nanny among the goats you brought from Lake-town. We only need very little, for the puppy will not take much as tiny as it is.”

Tilda looked up with pleading eyes. “Oh, please, Da? We can't let the puppy die.”

Bard realized they were asking him for milk. He glanced at the small lump in Thranduil's pale hands, held close to the fire for warmth. It was a small thing to ask in the face of such generosity from the elves. “I'll get some,” he said, out of the tent before anyone could make a reply. Imogene was confused as to why he wanted just a bit of goat milk but went to the pen and produced an earthenware mug with barely an inch of milk in it. Bard returned to a busier tent than he had left.

Therion, dark hair bound with a green ribbon at the nap of his neck, leaned over the dog. He sang softly as he manipulated the broken leg and the dog sometimes let out a soft whine. Mallos sat with the dog's head in his lap, petting his head and muttering soothingly. Tilda was practically in Thranduil's lap as he tended the puppy. Alimalé and Sigrid sat nearby but Feren had been banished to the corner. Bard handed over the mug and felt his heart jump at Thranduil's smile. Alimalé and Thranduil looked into the mug and begin to sing, both blond heads leaning close together. 

“What are they doing?” whispered Tilda before Bard could bring himself to ask.

“Singing a prayer,” Sigrid replied softly, “and enchanting the milk to give strength and healing.” Tilda smiled, pleased.

Thranduil took up the hollow reed Sigrid had brought and dipped it into the mug. He placed his forefinger over the other end and lifted out a drop of milk. Murmuring softly, he placed it at the puppy's mouth. It took a few tries but the puppy finally was able to swallow the milk. Alimalé wiped at the mess with a cloth as Thranduil patiently fed the puppy drop by drop.

“I believe that is it,” announced Therion, sitting back from the dog. “Of course, no roughhousing for a couple of weeks and plenty of rest, but I think he will be fine. I also must protest being summoned to heal a dog.”

“You have the most experience with healing animals, mellon nín,” said Mallos, fingers rubbing at the dog's ears. 

Therion's mouth twisted. “I did not enter the healing profession to see to pets,” he complained. He was stroking the dog's side even as he spoke, betraying his words. The dog's tail thumped steadily against the floor.

“He doesn't really mind,” Alimalé whispered to Tilda. “He's all bluster.” Therion huffed in annoyance and stood. 

The puppy had drunk all it would take and Thranduil was rubbing the squirming thing with a cloth, irritating it into yipping. “Feren,” the Elvenking said, looking up, “see what we have that may be suitable for the dog to eat. Not a lot, his stomach won't handle a big meal.”

“Yes, my lord,” replied Feren, heading for the exit. Therion followed him out smartly.

Mallos, used to his fellow healer's short supply of patience, gave the dog one last pat and stood. He bowed his head to Thranduil, who favored the healer with a slight smile, and said, “I will take my leave now, if you will allow it. I have other patients to see to.”

“I, as well, should be going,” said Alimalé, stroking fingertips over the puppy. “I have left tasks unfinished and they must be completed soon.”

The Elvenking bowed his head briefly in acknowledgment. “Thank you for your help.”

Alimalé and Mallos headed out but were almost run over by Galion, who swept through the tent flap in a temper. “What is this I hear about a...?” Galion froze, brown eyes sweeping around. His lips pressed together. “I will have the tub and hot water brought,” he said primly, turning on his heel and disappearing back outside. The healers chuckled as they left.

The dog cocked his head at the Elvenking. “It means you are getting a bath, mellon nín,” replied Thranduil. The dog's ears drooped and he whined. “There is no use arguing. You smell.” The dog dropped his head on his paws sullenly.

Bard controlled his sudden desire to sniff at his own armpits to see if he smelled too. “Is the puppy going to be alright?” he asked instead.

“I do not know for sure,” Thranduil said, a touch of sadness in his voice. Tilda looked up at him pleadingly and he smiled for the young girl. “We have done what we can for her and now it is up to her own strength and will to continue to live.”

“It's a girl?” Tilda excitedly asked. 

“Yes, a little girl with a buff colored coat. Sigrid, would you hand me that basket on the table there? Yes, that one. Thank you.” Thranduil lined the basket with soft cloth and laid the puppy in it. He set the basket a couple feet from the stove for warmth. Tilda shuffled forward to peer down at the little baby animal. “Let her sleep, tithen pen. The puppy needs rest now,” ordered Thranduil. Tilda nodded but continued to hover.

Feren returned with food for the dog, a couple pieces of red meat and some potatoes and carrots. The dog ate it all happily. Elves brought a tub in and then a procession brought hot water in buckets, slowly filling it. Galion brought cloths and soap, eyeing the dirty dog. There was a call in elvish from outside the tent and Feren ducked out to handle it.

Thranduil was still sitting on the floor, pale and looking a little limp. Bard frowned in concern. He did not know what magic or power the Elvenking had used on the dog and puppy or how draining it might have been, but he did not like the look of him now. “Are you alright?” Bard leaned down to mutter.

Thranduil gave him a wan smile. “Yes. I'm fine.”

“Mmm huh. Let's get you up into a chair.” Bard offered his hand and the elf sighed in annoyance but took it. Bard ended up grabbing his arm as Thranduil swayed as he stood. Bard handed him onto his throne, worry curling around his heart. If anything, the Elvenking looked even more wilted for the action. 

Bain darted through the tent flap. “Did we really find a dog?” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” crowed Bard, grinning, “and you're just in time to help us give the dog a bath.” The boy's face fell a little at being told there was work to be done. The dog whined as well, paw coming up to cover his muzzle. “He's not going to suddenly bite us or anything, right?” Bard muttered out of the side of his mouth to the Elvenking.

Thranduil shook his head. “No. His mind is no longer clouded with terror and protectiveness. He knows we are only trying to help him now.” Galion brought him a goblet of wine and Thranduil gave the seneschal a grateful look.

“I want to help too!” Tilda insisted. 

“We will all help bath the dog,” soothed her father. Bard took off his coat and tunic, leaving on only an old shirt that gaped wide at his chest. Thranduil's gaze dropped to the table top quickly, a faint pink rising on his cheeks. “Alright, here we go,” grunted Bard, squatting to scoop the dog up and gently place him in the tub.

Galion supervised the bathing, making sure not a speck of mud, dust, or anything else remained on the dog. To Bard's surprise, the animal sat patiently in the water as they scrubbed. The bowman helped the dog from the bath, leaving behind water that was dark with filth. He set him down in front of the fire and let his children rub at his fur with towels. Soon, a clean brown and white dog was slowly drying in front of the stove. “He needs to be combed,” announced Tilda with a frown, petting the snarled fur.

Thranduil gestured and Galion brought over a thin box. “This should do,” the Elvenking said, handing over two silver combs with narrow teeth.

“Gently now, Tilda. You don't want to pull on the knots and hurt him,” instructed Sigrid. The young girl nodded, a look of concentration on her face as she picked at the dog's coat.

“We may need to cut out some of the mats,” Bard said. “Some of them are really bad and there's no sense making the poor guy miserable trying to comb them out.”

“I'll do that,” Sigrid said, handing the second comb to her brother. “There is a really bad one on his shoulder that best be cut out.” Thranduil handed over a pair of small scissors from the grooming kit and she carefully cut out the mat. The dog lay sleepily as the children worked over him, rolling onto his other side when urged. 

Bard sat at the table, pulling at his shirt where it had gotten wet over his belly. Thranduil slowly blinked at him, face once again impassive. The tub and used water were taken away. The puppy began to complain and Sigrid brought her to Thranduil. He checked her over and offered her more milk, humming lightly. After, he sat with the puppy in his lap, hand curled over her and thumb gently rubbing. This seemed to settled her back to sleep. Galion bowed. “Shall I see that dinner is served here for everyone, my lord?” he asked. Thranduil replied with a nod. The dark haired elf departed briskly. 

The children were fussing over the dog. The animal's fur was slowly drying and Sigrid instructed her younger siblings on combing out the snarls and mats. Sigrid was working on the dog's fluffy tail in her lap, patiently picking out burs, while Bain and Tilda brushed his coat smooth. The dog was mostly asleep. “Careful around his paws, Tilda,” said Sigrid. “His pads look tender.”

Thranduil's head lifted from where it was resting against the back of his chair. “Bain,” he called. The boy looked up. “In that chest, there is a tray filled with small jars. Bring it here.” Bain did, setting the tray on the table in front of the Elvenking with curiosity in his eyes. Thranduil picked up several, smelling them before rejecting the jars. He smiled at Bain slightly. “For infected wounds,” he said, wafting a jar with pink gel in it under the boy's nose. Bain's face scrunched up at the pungent smell and Thranduil chuckled in amusement. Finally, he selected a jar with a pale green cream in it. “Take this to your older sister. Sigrid, use that salve on the dog's paw pads. Be sure to check for grit between his toes and tell me if you find any cuts.” Sigrid took the jar from her brother with a nod.

“What's that smell like?” Tilda asked, curious.

“I'm not smelling another jar of goop,” protested Bain. Bard chuckled. 

Sigrid rolled her eyes, smelling the jar quickly before holding it out for her little sister. “It smells nice!” Tilda said. “Minty.”

“I wish the other one smelled minty,” Bain grumbled.

“What did you have him smell?” Bard asked. Thranduil held the jar of pink gel out and Bard leaned forward to have a sniff. He coughed, pulling back with a disgusted face. “What is in that?” he gasped.

“If it really smells that bad, you're probably better off not knowing,” said Sigrid, looking up from her inspection of one of the dog's paws to grimace at her father. Thranduil smiled serenely.

“Are you sure you want to become a healer, Sig?” Bain muttered. “I mean, all the blood and smells and...”

“Bain,” Bard interrupted mildly. Tilda looked a little green.

“I'm sure. I want to help people and it's interesting.” Sigrid looked up with a smile. “Alimalé says she'll teach me as much as she can over the winter. I'm hoping that I'll have a good enough grasp come spring that I can take over as main healer from Una. I know she was planning to retire soon and...,” she paused and her expression turned sad, “and her apprentice didn't make it out of Lake-town.”

“It's sad Una's apprentice didn't survive but I'm proud of you, Sigrid, for wanting to help everyone,” Bard praised. He glanced at Thranduil. “I didn't know Alimalé was staying over winter...” His voice trailed off as he noticed the Elvenking had his eyes closed, head leaning back. Had Thranduil fallen asleep, the bowman wondered?

But Thranduil answered anyway, keeping his eyed closed as he spoke, “Alimalé has already approached me for permission to remain here over the winter, so she may oversee your people's health, and I have granted her leave to do so.”

Bard was stunned and so incredibly grateful. To have an elven healer there over the winter, when injuries and illness struck so many, was an marvelous blessing. “Thank you,” he said thickly. A tiny tip of the head was all the response he got from the Elvenking. Bard felt worry rise in his chest again. 

Sigrid lifted her head and scrutinized her father and Thranduil with dark eyes. “Sig,” said Tilda, pulling her sister's attention away from the adults. “There's another really bad mat right here. Should you cut that one too?”

“Hmm. Yes, I think so.” Sigrid picked up the scissors and began to delicately cut out the tangle of fur. She then used the long strips of linen she had brought to bind the dog's back left leg, giving the healing limb some extra support.

Bard stared at Thranduil. He had seen milk with more color than the Elvenking had right then and his lips had a worrying blue shade to them. The bowman feared for him. Bard wondered how true the adage that elves could not get sick was or if it was a myth the prideful elves encouraged to spread. “You are staring again, aran neth,” murmured Thranduil, ice blue eyes opening to look at him.

Bard's lips quirked, struck by the memory of the night before the battle when he had hidden in the Elvenking's tent, scared of the past and the future, terrified of what waited for him if he closed his eyes to sleep and also what the dawn would bring. He had been beset on all sides when Thranduil had tricked and soothed him into resting. “You do not look well,” he said and stubbornly returned Thranduil's halfhearted glare as the elf bristled. “There must be something I can do for you. How about some tea?”

Thranduil calmed. “Tea would be lovely,” he admitted. Bard smiled. He filled the kettle from the jug fresh water was kept in and set it on the stove. Then Bard set out mugs and the beautiful white and blue teapot in readiness. 

Galion returned with dinner. He carried loafs of bread while another elf carried a tray with bowls of hot soup; full of beans, mushrooms, and vegetables in thick cream and seasoned with herbs. Thranduil spoke quietly to the elf who brought the food and he bowed and quickly left. The dog, groomed within an inch of his life, was asleep before the stove. Sigrid took the puppy from Thranduil and returned her to her warm basket. She then guided her younger siblings into washing their hands well. Galion poured out earthenware mugs of water for the children and set out silver spoons. The water boiled and Bard fetched the kettle with a cloth wrapped around the handle.

Thranduil watched this activity through a mere sliver of icey blue, looking more asleep than awake. Bard took the tin of herbs and dried fruit from a small side table and scooped two heaping spoonfuls into the teapot. Galion made to take it from him but at a small noise from the Elvenking, so low only Galion could hear it, the seneschal left the bowman to the task. The servant elf returned with several more bowls of soup, set them on the table, and left silently. The children settled into seats, Bard handing hunks of bread torn off the loafs to them. He then poured Thranduil a cup of tea. 

The blond elf accepted the cup with a tiny smile. “Thank you,” Thranduil said softly, folding his hands around the warm cup. “Galion, stop fussing and join us for the meal. Feren, Auriel, you too. Come in.” The commander and royal guard sheepishly entered the tent, warmly greeted by the children. Auriel urged her husband to sit and eat. Thranduil seemed to perk up with the meal and conversation, much to Bard's relief.

Bain and Tilda babbled about their day. An elf captain, Lasbelin, had come to Bain after lunch and given him another sword lesson, including several of the other older boys. Tilda excitedly told everyone of the elf who had given a sword lesson to the young children in the courtyard, although using just sticks rather than actual swords. Bain grinned at his little sister. “Soon you and I will be fighting in the Dale guard!”

Bard winced. “Spare me,” he breathed to himself in faint horror.

“Poor Da,” chuckled Sigrid. She had been granted a goblet of heavily watered wine to have with her meal and was enjoying the sign of adulthood.

“I am sure you will both be the pride of your city and a terror to all who face you in combat,” Feren reassured.

“What about you, Lady Sigrid? I see you frequently in the healer's tents. Do you mean to apprentice with them?” asked Auriel.

“I do, if they'll have me. Alimalé has agreed to teach me over the winter, so I'm hoping I'll have at least a good grasp of the basics of the healing arts come spring and can look after the people here when she returns home.”

“You do yourself and your people a great honor and service by wanting to take care of them, Lady Sigrid,” said Thranduil. “They are lucky to have you.”

Sigrid blushed at the complement. “Thank you, my lord. You are most kind.” Her embarrassed gaze darted to her father and Bard winked at her with a grin, making Sigrid's blush only deepen.

Soon, bowls and cups were empty and stomachs were full. Tilda was blinking hard, fighting sleep. It had been a busy day for the little girl. Even Bain's exuberance for his subject of sword training had faded into yawns. Thranduil had lapsed into quiet again as well, seemingly dozing. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back against his chair. Bard could not keep himself from staring at the Elvenking. The long line of his throat and the wings of his collarbones drew his eye again and again. Each time the bowman caught himself staring, he jerked his gaze away guiltily. Across the table, Galion and Auriel shared a telling look.

The tea pot had been emptied, refilled, and emptied again by the time Bard gathered himself to stand. “Thank you for the meal, my lords, but I think it's time me and mine head to our beds.” He rubbed his hand over Tilda's hair and the little girl straightened her nodding head. Bard wanted to get his children to bed and then seek out Percy and Edric for a progress report on what he had missed after the dog situation. 

Thranduil opened his eyes and lifted his head. “You are most welcome, Lord Bard. I'd hate to see you go but rest calls to us all this evening.” He favored the children with a smile.

Sigrid stood, prodding her brother up onto his feet. “The meal was indeed delicious, my lord. Thank you.” The Elvenking nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

Bard bent and lifted Tilda up into his arms. She rubbed at an eye, sleepily smiling at Thranduil. “Can we play some more tomorrow, Thranduil?” she asked, her pronunciation of the elf's name somewhat off the mark.

“Of course, tithen pen. Be sure to sleep well tonight.”

“I will. Goodnight, puppy. Goodnight, doggy.” Both animals were completely out and did not responded to Tilda's calls but this did not seem to bother her.

“Feren, be so kind to escort Bard and the children to their tent,” ordered Thranduil.

The dark haired commander stood. “My pleasure, aran nín.” Feren left with the mortal family as Bard urged his two older offspring out of the tent and into the cold night, Tilda burrowed into his shoulder.

Thranduil sighed tiredly when they were gone. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his head bowed. “Spare me a lecture,” he muttered.

“A lecture is just what you are going to get, guren ion,” snapped Galion.

“What were you thinking?” Auriel demanded, frowning. “You are already spent and then you influence the dog and heal the pup! You shall sicken yourself, at this rate.” She had stood as she spoke and went to the Elvenking, stroking a hand over his pale cheek. “You are clammy,” Auriel said disapprovingly.

“I could not do nothing,” protested Thranduil. “The dog would have attacked one of the mortals if I had not reached out to him mind to mind.” The animal rolled up onto his feet and limped over to lay his head on Thranduil's knee, whining a little. The Elvenking smiled gently down at him. “It is not your fault, thalion. I do not blame you,” Thranduil soothed, petting the dog's ears.

“This is not the place or time to be giving of yourself so freely, melui ethuil,” scolded Auriel. Galion had gone into the alcove with the bed and returned with the ivy carved box. He poured from the bottle of miruvor and handed Thranduil a large dose. The Elvenking sipped at the sweet restoring liquid without protest. “You shall rest tonight and rest only. Do not think you will be getting up to feed the puppy in the middle of the night,” Auriel said sternly, stroking his hair.

Thranduil leaned slightly into the touch. “Alimalé has already agreed to see to the puppy during the night. She will be here soon, I expect.” 

“That is well.” 

Galion ordered the table cleared, two elves sweeping the dishes and remains of dinner away. Auriel stopped stroking Thranduil's hair, for he did not like such familiar gestures to be preformed in front of those not close to him, and went into the alcove to turn down the bed and fluff the pillows. When the two servants were gone, Galion sent the dog back to his place before the stove and eased Thranduil from his chair. Auriel came around the other side, for the Elvenking was trembling upon his feet, and they guided their king to bed. 

Both Galion and Auriel had known Thranduil since his birth and often teased him about changing diapers and giving baths to little princes, alongside their own young son, but there was no such jest now. Thranduil was wilting again as Galion undressed him and Auriel combed his hair. The long over-coat was draped on a dress form and the grey shirt and leggings folded neatly. A clean, loose tunic was pulled on and they settled Thranduil into bed. “I do not need to be tucked in like a child,” he murmured in annoyance as Auriel fussed with the blanket. Thranduil's eyes fluttered closed, barely able to remain awake and quickly slipping into a deep sleep.

“Hush,” whispered Auriel, brushing at Thranduil's hair so it laid neatly on the pillow. The Elvenking's breathing slowed and Auriel pulled the stool close to the bed, sitting. “I will sit with him for the first part of the night while you rest, hervenn,” she said quietly to Galion. He leaned down and she tilted her head back so they could share a slow kiss, passing love and reassurance between them. When they parted, Galion left and headed to the tent he shared with his wife to rest. The night would be long for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im úpol cýra gorthrim – I cannot heal the dead.  
> Baurm ilin - We need milk.  
> aran neth – young king  
> guren ion - my heart son  
> thalion – strong, dauntless  
> melui ethuil – lovely, sweet Spring  
> hervenn – husband
> 
> I stopped putting – between elvish bits because it's unneeded, imo.

**Author's Note:**

> tithen pen – little one   
> hîn – children  
> hervenn – husband  
> hervess – wife  
> aran – king  
> mellon – friend  
> meleth – love   
> nín – my  
> edain – Elvish word for Man 
> 
> In Day After the Battle, I used 'bess' when Galion spoke to Auriel. I've changed that to 'hervess' to be more in line with Auriel calling Galion 'hervenn'. I don't find a diminutive for 'hervenn'.
> 
> Miruvor was a reviving cordial made by the elves. It renewed the strength of the drinker and was known to be warm and fragrant. I'm just assuming all elves have it, not just Rivendell. 
> 
> Why do we put – between words in elvish? It makes no sense.


End file.
